Running
by dystrophoria
Summary: A one-shot of Faye's thoughts during the final fight against Vicious. What if it didn't have to end this way?


_That bastard_. Taking a long drag from her cigarette, she slowly exhaled the smoke, letting it swirl out in front of her and fade as it dissolved into the crisp evening air. She sat there, not really waiting for anything. Nor was she mourning. There was nothing to mourn. Her past...didn't seem so great after all. This future was only for the hope of returning to the past. Not that she misses it. She'll get by each day of course, now that it wasn't about the past. For her. But...no...He was always about the past. He only saw far enough to the next bounty head, living by the minute, the second. She was sure he didn't want to take those steps, those minutes any further than he had to. One foot still in the door, they used to say. They... those people of her old life. That was all a shattered dream. Her aspirations, her goals, her plans, they meant nothing in the place, in this time. But _he_ meant something, didn't he? Doesn't he? It sure felt like he did. With another breath, she shook her head with a wry smile. Stirring up these thoughts like in a snow globe. Did _she_ mean anything, to anyone? That lawyer, that con. At least he let her pretend she had a life, as brief as it was. Whatever she has now is too much trouble, nothing but. _You don't mean to, but I'm sure you're going to cause a lot of trouble for people, too._ Her younger voice was so forgiving. Was she even sorry? They bitched and yelled, but they still took it, all that shit that followed her everywhere. Still spared a couple of bullets for her sake. Still waited for her to come back, still included her in their plans until she walked away from them. She bit back a bit of regret, remembering his voice over the radio, yelling demands. Even though she had _left_ them, to where she "belonged." The nerve of him, taking for granted that she was ever a part of the Bebop. That she was there to stay, that she cared enough to come back and help her, everyone surviving day by day with each other. But... she always _did_ come back, didn't she? Circumstances kept pushing her back. Or was she pulled back? Not as if they welcomed her back with outstretched arms or anything. Thinks just went on the way they usually did. As if she never left in the first place. She was lucky if she ever got a snide, "Oh, and where have _you_ been while we were out chasing bounties?" Jack-ass.

She remembered, _remembered_, the days when she was able to make such impositions so easily, never worrying about what it said about her, or what the consequences were. Not that she's stopped, but now they _feel_ like impositions, and she didn't care. She had to get what she wanted, what she needed, so she wasn't about to worry about something like what other people thought. But those friends, the ones she can now remember.... those girls she saw on that tape, laughing with her, clearly friends she hoped never to forget and had tried to preserve, not like those brutish men and that crazy child she's been spending the past couple of months with. And still, she knew nothing. Only those snippets of his past, so important to him, by that look in his eyes...those eyes... Important enough to run out on Jet that one time when she left..._again, leaving_. This time, he was the one leaving, and she couldn't stand it. To "see if he was alive." Bullshit. That still meant he was going to die. She contemptuously snorted at the dark quixotism this could have meant. _But what for?_ Julia. She was both in awe and contempt of this woman. She had to be all the trouble, of course. Women like that always were. Something about how guardedly she smiled, and those far-seeing eyes. It was no wonder he was so drawn in, obsessed. In love. She sighed, closing her eyes on the vast expanse before her, stained with the blood red of dusk. _Oh Spike_... She could feel the intensity emanating from him as he had shoved his face into hers, asking that question. She had to admit, it scared her and almost hurt her to see this much emotion coming from him. For some other woman, who evidently couldn't bother to be here with him. She began to shake, just as she had trembled, holding that gun, missing her usually perfect shots at his back, in a hopeless attempt to keep him from going. To keep him. But still, he left. Stubborn as ever.

Wondering why Jet hadn't hollered for her to get her ass back in the ship and close the cargo door so they could start up the ship and leave, she realized he was waiting, too. As tough as bounty hunters can get, this crew was never one for false hopes, mushy euphemisms to tint everything in that soft rosy colour that made everything seem better. No, they dealt with the harsh reality that was here and now and back from the past to haunt them every day. But wasn't _her_ past just that? A hope, a glimpse, for an explanation...for a place to belong? Wasn't he just a hope as well? Didn't she and even that lug Jet know that he couldn't be coming back? Not from that, with that look on his determined face. His sorrow was something much deeper than a forgotten past, but rather one he had to live with everyday, shadows, and whispers reminding him that he was still...

_That idiot_. And his pseudo-legitimate reasons. Left her gaping like a fool with his stupid ideals. It was bleak. This whole thing was bleak. For half a second, she wished she could just sleep this away. Sleep and forget. _It worked the first time around_, she thought sardonically. Her temples pounded as she flicked the cigarette butt away. She stood up. Time to run again. If only her _Red Tail_ wasn't so badly torn up. And for what? For him, again. Dusk had long fallen and she looked up at the stars they've so carelessly and recklessly flown through. How high she's jumped, from those important space missions she's dreamed of and trained for. Leading to this. A shuffle of loose rock snapped her attention back to the ground. She quickly whipped out her gun, immediately regretting nearly emptying that clip on the _air_ around Spike. She tersely asked a, "Who's there?" A quiet snicker. She nearly collapsed as she saw the figure emerging from the darkness before her, the dim light illuminating his blood drenched clothes. He was clutching his wounded arm, shielding his torso. After snapping out of her internal debate on her sanity, she scrambled off the platform, yelling something incoherent to the bald man inside the Bebop. Realizing the implications of his survival, she struggled under his near dead weight. Faye Valentine was running again, but this time, she wasn't quite alone.


End file.
